


When Conviction Fails

by stuffilikeiwrite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Other, Sad!Vader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffilikeiwrite/pseuds/stuffilikeiwrite
Summary: WhenShedied, She had taken his compassion with her. She had grasped at the hand of his spirit, and all that he stood for asThe Jedi. As Her life withered away, so did all that was good inside of him. Left was only an empty shell of suffering; of agony. And whatwasleft, he had deplored. In the remnants of the man that had once been; all that heloathedcame to light.
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano & Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala/Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine & Darth Vader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	When Conviction Fails

Vader was a man of conviction, as far as he saw it. As was expected of any successful Sith Lord; letting the emotions rule and take full control without ever truly allowing _them_ to conquer _you_. Using fear to his advantage, using rage to gain power, and pain to enhance said power. It had taken two decades to come to this point. Wavering was expected early on; during the initiation towards the Rule of Two. Vader himself had started out with an unquenchable fury in his soul, and a fresh open wound where heart used to be. 

When _She_ died, She had taken his compassion with her. She had grasped at the hand of his spirit, and all that he stood for as _The Jedi_. As Her life withered away, so did all that was good inside of him. Left was only an empty shell of suffering; of agony. And what _was_ left, he had deplored. In the remnants of the man that had once been; all that he _loathed_ came to light.

And with the passing years, while the pain never faded completely; it had shifted. From a sharp, searing red hot poker constantly burrowing its way deeper into his side; to a dull, distant ache only there to make its presence known. To make sure it was never forgotten, as a cruel reminder. But no longer at the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, it became enough to _numb_ any other emotion. The remorse over the way in which he had, directly or not, caused Her death was enough to daze and desensitize any other reprehensible act he may commit himself to. The slaughter of innocents, of civilians, of women, of children. All in the name of justice, all in the name of the Empire. It weighed little on his conscience. Why should the blood on his hands matter? If he could kill the person he loved the most, and still go on albeit as an empty shadow of his former self - what did it matter who else joined Her beyond the grave?

Except, he _hadn't_ killed Her. 

It had been the first thing Palpatine revealed to him; as his severely burnt and scorched flesh still stung and charred within the fresh confines of its haphazardly crafted life support system. As he was still confounded regarding what was real, and what was a waking nightmare. Trapped within the suit that would become the prison of his own making.

“ _You_ killed her,” Palpatine had rasped.

Those were his Master’s words. His only explanation. Insinuating that Vader had for one crucial moment lost control, lost his mind; and subsequently ended the one person he'd fallen so far from grace to save. The one soul he had been so desperate to salvage that he had willingly sacrificed his morals, and his very identity, if only to reach for that tiny sliver of hope Palpatine had dangled in front of his nose.

‘ _But I **didn't** kill Her.’_

If he _had_ killed Her, there would be no child. His son - _their son_ \- would have died with Her, still in the womb. Would have been buried alongside his mother in the Naberrie family tomb on Naboo. Would have never seen the light of day, never grown into the bright, promising young man who had destroyed the first Death Star. Would never have been named, never have been hidden away, never have been living life peacefully unaware of his heritage in the shadows of the Empire for nearly twenty years.

But he was >em>alive.

Luke had changed _everything_. 

The discovery of his existence had been like a slap to the face, like a stupefying wake up call. Like Vader had found himself dunked beneath the icy cold waters of truth, forced to realize the bleak reality. _Forced_ to realize that the _one person_ he’d been blindly clinging to in this world, was even cruel than he could ever have anticipated.

Palpatine had _lied_ to him. 

Perhaps, Vader had indeed inadvertently caused Her demise - but She had lived long enough to birth their son. She had _not_ died on Mustafar, She had _not_ been strangled to death by the invisible hand of his Force choke. She had survived long enough to set their only child to the world. Long enough to name him _Luke_ ; granting him the name She had picked out for their child if it were a boy from the very beginning of Her pregnancy. 

She had been _right_. 

The Jedi had been convinced that their child would be a daughter, She had been _adamant_ it was a son. _Their_ son. _Luke Skywalker_. Named by his mother, bearing the stark reminder of who had fathered him.

‘ _Luke_.’ 

Dark, shaggy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. The same hard, defiant conviction in his eyes as his mother’s hazel ones had carried. He'd inherited The Jedi's facial features; the same angular boyish face, the same dimpled chin; the same complex. But his _spirit_ was that of his mother's. Burning like a furnace flame, fighting for what he believed was right with a conviction only death could steal away from him. Vader had hoped Luke would be _more like himself_ ; easier to break, easier to manipulate, easier to steer in the direction he'd have liked. He had wished _he himself_ could mislead, and pull the strings as well as Palpatine had, some twenty years ago when The Jedi had become tangled in the Emperor's web of lies. Trapped like a fly, to be feasted upon by the ravenous spider.

But Luke was _different_. 

Luke was sensitive, emotional, vulnerable and desperately searching for a way to bond with his long lost father. The Jedi would have recognized himself in those qualities; would have appreciated the similarities. Luke had been deluding himself into expecting a heroic fantasy, envisioning his absent father as one of the men who had single handedly led the opposition of what would become the Empire. A as beacon of hope. Instead, he had found himself saddled with the knowledge of what had _truly_ become of The Jedi who had sired him. 

Vader clenched his gloved hands into tight fists; the visual memory of Luke's hard set, intent expression as he let go of the ledge still etched into his mind. Blue eyes cold as ice; denying their familiar relations despite knowing very well how the Force did _not_ lie. His Force signature bursting with mistrust, and _contempt_.

But Luke had _lived_. 

For a short moment, as he watched Luke fall; Vader had been unexpectedly reliving the pain of that moment he came to his senses while still strapped to the operation table, as he broke free from his makeshift shackles. 

Crippled; less than half the man he'd used to be. More cybernetics and machine, than flesh and blood. Reaching for Force powers he could no longer tap into; taunting him by remaining _just out of reach_. He was reminded of crumbling to the harsh floor, beneath the load of his own reconstructed body’s weight; of the searing pain as his respirator attempted to match his sobs with its own periodically synchronized breath cycles. 

The physical torment, while a menace in its own right; bearing no likeness to the mental _anguish_ of his breakdown. It had stabbed viciously at his already blackened heart, until nothing but a mangled piece of malformed meat remained; the pang in his chest as he watched the _last link to Her_ fall to his doom bringing it back as a distant echo. He was choosing _death_ over his own father, just as _She_ had chosen death over him and the Empire.

But Luke had survived, by some miraculous whim of the fates. The will of the Force, perhaps. Still in denial; still battered, bruised and disabled. Doomed by his own father to experience the same loss of a limb that Count Dooku had once bestowed upon _The Jedi_. 

The Jedi had been bereft of a right arm; Luke merely of his right hand. It had been a selfish, wicked way of attempting to have his son experience the same indescribable humiliation. Stripped of a part of himself; at the hand of an enemy he had been rushing unprepared to face. Overconfident; in over his head. With this, Luke had learnt _never_ to throw himself head first into a battle he was not equipped to win. 

But at what cost?

Vader found himself glaring out into the vast black void ahead of the Executor; clutching at the distant mental link humming between them for a brief moment - like a flicker of light before going out in an instant. Luke was too far away to read; as his signature disappeared along with his ragtag crew of rebels. The Princess no doubt on-board; Vader could tell. Ironic, how it had been _her_ saving _his_ skin this time around. 

Still, he felt the frustration bubble up inside. Felt it mingle with the fury; with the disappointment. Despite the carefully calculated trap he'd set, the way it had played out all in his favour until that last moment where Luke broke protocol. His reaction had aligned with none of the scenarios Vader had prescribed beforehand. It had failed; _he_ had failed - and Luke was _gone_. Just like his mother. 

Vader knew he shouldn't be surprised. 

Everyone had left him for dead. Whenever he’d dared to love, dared to trust, dared to open up and be vulnerable and sincere - it had been for naught. 

Mother, watching with glassy dark eyes when he turned to peer at her over his shoulder one final time; ever the terrified little boy as he left Tatooine behind. The boy who believed the Jedi order would _help him free her_. Instead; it had _kept him_ from saving her. The last time he’d seen her before her demise; he was only nine years old. She’d been all he knew. Albeit without intention of hurting him, and beyond her own control; Shmi Skywalker had passed away in his arms to leave him alone. Had torn the first hole in The Jedi's heart; had triggered the first act of rampant, blind revenge. His first step towards his dark fate.

“I’m so _proud_ of you, Ani,” she had breathed; as the life left her eyes.

Ahsoka had followed; abandoning him for her own _selfish reasons_. Walking away from him, dismissing his importance in her life and the value of the lessons he had taught her; the value of their bond. She had made it clear he was never going to be _enough_ ; had turned him down despite his pleading, his admission that he understood her feelings better than anyone. The Jedi had failed his padawan, the only one to believe in her innocence and to what end? Ahsoka had _still_ turned him down.

“..And _without you_ ,” she had whispered.

Obi Wan was next in line; siding with the maniacal teachings of the Jedi order. Fighting to avenge them - all the while outright _lying to his face_ , trying to trick him into believing he could still return to him. Trying to make The Jedi believe that his former master had ever considered him a _brother_. That they were ever more than merely master and apprentice; that The Jedi was never the burden or a disappointment he’d felt he was. That he was important to Obi Wan, too, in a way he had never outwardly expressed. That Obi Wan, who never formed attachments after what happened to the Duchess of Mandalore; had been so overtly attached to _him_.

“I _loved_ you,” he had sobbed.

And then _Her_ ; who had turned down his offer of keeping Her by his side. Turned down the offer to become untouchable, as his Empress. Betrayed him, in spite of all he had sacrificed for Her. He had killed _younglings_ for her. His brothers and sisters; his _entire life_ slaughtered in the crumbling ashes of the burning Jedi Temple. To learn the ways of the Dark Side, to join the Sith - to keep _Her_ from dying. And She had thanked him by rejecting him; by claiming She could not follow him anymore. 

“ _I love you_ ,” she had cried; and for the first time in his life - he _didn’t_ believe her.

Now, Luke had chosen to stride the same path. Selfish, like Ahsoka. He too believing in the lies Obi Wan had fed him. Believing himself too virtuous, too pure just like Her. Believing that any lives he had taken in the name of the Rebellion - and his misplaced sense of civil justice - to be easier to explain away, than those his father had claimed. But in a way, Vader supposed it was no surprise Luke took after his mother. His son’s intentions were fair, his sacrifices rational. She had been pure, and good; though She was not fully innocent in the wake of the war, either; she had _known_ where She stood.

Luke had inherited the same sense of morality, the same hunch for standing up for the weak. Standing up against the Empire, as a way of breaking free; of fighting back against the leading elite. Although, his desperation to make a difference and be of importance mirrored that of The Jedi.

Vader had sworn before the battle at Bespin that Luke would be turned. But _could_ he be corrupted? 

Luke was still but a youth; still naive and starry eyed - despite some of that innocence being ripped away in the very moment Vader had revealed to him the truth. But he was _secure_ ; he was so steadfast in himself and who he perceived himself to be. The Jedi had been going astray when he was the same age; his fears and insecurities _eating him alive_. Luke was already an adult; had already _defeated_ his demons.

“ _I_ am your father,” Vader had said to him. 

The response he’d received was that of Luke crying out in _agony_ , in begrudging despair. All the while knowing that the grim revelation was nothing but the truth. Perhaps Luke would now see that the line between good and evil; right and wrong was not as straight as he had supposed. It was a blurry, tangled mess; the road to hell paved with good intentions. Vader's own road to hell surely had been. But Luke was paving his very own road _elsewhere_ , it seemed.

Still, it stung Vader’s damaged eyes. The rage swelling in his chest; filling the empty void of broken, shredded pieces of what was once his heart. For a second, the shade of glowing amber that coloured his eyes a sickly, Sith yellow faded. Gave way for a pale, tired blue. Bleached by the scorching flames of Mustafar’s lava streams. The same blue eyes _The Jedi_ had once sported. The same blue eyes _his_ son now possessed. Vader shook his head in frustration, and in an instant the shift was reversed. The embers of his fiery stare bleeding through, devouring the remnants of The Jedi resurfacing.

Or, so he would have _hoped_. 

But the pulsating ache inside; dull and sharp as a blade all at once, remained. Vader knew the feeling; recognized the emotion he’d thought long gone. One that had been numbed and buried deep for so many years; underneath the heaps and drones of twisted, lifeless bodies of his victims. 

Remorse. 

Regret. 

_Guilt_. 

_Remorse_ , for the way in which he had handled his first meeting face to face with his son after he had learned the truth of their connection. 

_Regret_ , for the way in which he had physically, and mentally, snuffed out some of the light of hope previously clear in Luke's bright blue eyes.

_Guilt_ , over the fact that he had purposely driven a wedge between them himself; much like he had done between himself and _Her_. He found he knew no other way.

Vader pursed what was left of his charred lips behind the face plate. He glared at the distant stars, sparkling like burning orbs against the inky sky behind them. Spanning eons of light years ahead. Filling the distance between himself and Luke, making it palpable. _Tangible_. 

He _despised_ Obi Wan for lying to his son. Despised the way in which he had deluded Luke into believing in a childish _fairy tale_. Despised him for telling Luke that his father was dead, that his father was now unreachable.

‘ _But is that **not** what **you** tell yourself?_’ 

Vader turned his head to the side, as if to deny the suggestion. Still, the quiet voice nagging at the back of his head would not be silenced. 

‘ _Do you not constantly tell everybody that Anakin Skywalker is **dead**? That you **destroyed** him? Is that not what you tell yourself? Luke is not your son; he is **The Jedi’s** son._’

‘ _Luke is my son. My flesh and blood. **Mine alone** ,_’ Vader shot back silently; his inwardly projected diction a sharp hiss of a threat; angled towards the defiant part of his own psyche.

‘ _Then, you must also admit that **you** are Anakin Skywalker._’

‘ _His name means nothing to me._ ’

‘ _Then, **Luke Skywalker** cannot be your son._’

‘ _He **is**_.’

‘ _Then, you are indeed Anakin, and you **accept** that as the only truth._’

‘ _I am **not** The Jedi; he was weak and foolish. I destroyed him and his pathetic legacy, he is nobody now. He is **nothing**._’

‘ _You cannot claim Skywalker as kin, if you do not acknowledge your **own** identity_.’

‘ **Silence**!’

‘ _Silence will accomplish nothing. It is too late to undo what you have revealed to yourself._ ’

Vader forcefully ignored his own intrusive thoughts; locking them back away inside the darkness of his past where they could not bother him.

But weren’t they _right_? 

If Luke was indeed his son; did that not mean that The Jedi had never fully died? How could he be a different man, a separate entity, if he recognized _The Jedi's_ son as _his_ son?

‘ _And Luke is **my** son. My son, and he belongs to **me**. **With** me._’

He could feel it in his bones; could feel it as deeply as he felt the tendrils of the Dark Side surging through him. As deeply as he felt the connection to his own Force sensitivity, to his own memories of Her. Vader had loved Her - _loved Her still_ \- and She had been but the wife of The Jedi. If he thought of Her as his beloved, as his everything; did that not mean he _must_ recognize himself as unchanged? A broken shell, a faded shadow of who he had once been. But _the same_ nonetheless.

A fleeting image of Her passed before Vader’s inner vision. Her kind hazel eyes, full of mournful sorrow. Her silky brown hair, falling in springy curls over Her pale shoulders. His betrayal had destroyed Her; had ripped Her from him. How could he ever repent for that? His eyes prickling; Vader snarled silently to himself - deformed face contorting into a visage of hollow, yet overwhelming anguish. 

The Jedi had _known_ that what he had done was wrong; as soon as he stopped to think about it. Had _known_ the lives he'd taken could never be accounted for, could never be justified. That, much as he liked to think killing the younglings had set them free from a cruel fate of being twisted by the unkind religion of the Jedi Order; he had been ridden with the burden of their murder. He had locked that knowledge away; had forced himself to _deny_ its meaning.

Still, now, he was not as sure anymore. He found himself wavering; suddenly not as certain of his future as he had once been. Not as convinced of his purpose to suffer for eternity, while bringing upon others the same torment. Vader didn't even take note of the wetness pooling at the corners of his bloodshot yellow eyes until one lone tear broke free to trail down the grooves of his wretched face. 

Only _then_ , did the shock seep in. 

When had he last _cried_?

Had it been on Mustafar, after he had slayed the Separatists and the realization of what he had just committed himself to came crashing down on him? Had it been when he learnt of _Her_ demise seconds hand after the brutal life saving ordeal, merging the bodily torture with the psychological agony? Had it been when Ahsoka swore to him that she would _not_ leave his side this time, despite _knowing_ what he had done as Vader? Had it been when he found Obi Wan's tattered robes were all that remained of the old man he had struck down, thinking it would bring him peace but finding himself stricken only by _grief_? Had it been the last time he was reminded that everything he felt, everything he stood for - everything he _believed_ \- came from The Jedi?

_Luke_ knew who his father was. 

Knew what he was; knew _who_ he was. Despite having his world toppled over and turned on its head; despite trying to deny it. Vader had denied the same fact for so long, that he had almost forgotten where the line he'd forged between what he considered to be _The Jedi_ and _himself_ was drawn. All he knew for certain, was that Luke was _his_ son. And if he wanted to cling to that one scrap of light; there were so many horrendous actions he needed to take responsibility for as well. 

The Jedi had never _truly_ died. The Jedi had only ever _evolved_ , had only ever changed as life itself changed and formed him into a dark dealer of vengeance. Had been molded by the path he chose, and by the people he’d loved and lost. Had been hollowed out; until only the _carcass_ remained.

It was _The Jedi_ that had killed Her; he had stolen Her will to live, he had snuffed out Her longing for peace. 

It was _The Jedi_ that killed Ahsoka; having zero quells with beheading her as soon as she denied him what he wished for; _denied him_ her allegiance. 

It was _The Jedi_ that had killed Obi Wan; striking him down after convincing himself that the blame was _all on him_ , and that it would diminish with the death of his former Jedi Master. 

Now, they remained lingering in his peripheral like translucent specters. Like a haunting reminder of how he may never escape. May never forget. May never be able to fully buy into his own lies. May _never_ be _forgiven_.

The Jedi - _Anakin_ \- was still very much _alive_. Not thriving, but crumbled to the bare bones of a forsaken human being. Beaten down by life, enslaved by one person after the other. But he had a _son_. 

As another tear trailed lazily down his cheek; Vader flinched. The sensation overwhelming him, a mixture of heavenly relief and excruciating devastation. It seemed one may never appear without the other in its tow. The name of The Jedi was _supposed_ to mean nothing to him; was _supposed_ to be an empty callback to a past long since abandoned and overcome. Was supposed to be a distant remnant of a man that no longer breathed. In itself, that was true from a _certain_ point view.

But if it had _truly meant nothing_ , it would never have stung the way it did whenever uttered for Vader to hear. When _She_ said it. When _Ahsoka_ said it. When _Obi Wan_ said it. Whenever it was uttered, it would bring forth all the suffering The Jedi had caused. And all the contempt The Jedi harboured towards his own visage. _Therein_ lay the answer.

‘ _I **am** Luke’s father. Luke is **my** son. And **I** am Darth Vader._’

‘ _ **And** Anakin Skywalker,_’ the pestering murmur of his inner voice whispered.

_Anakin_ no longer had the strength to suppress, or deny that statement.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was based on combined prompts/ideas by @frigid-rage and @beautifulbisexualqueen over at tumblr who wanted to see angsty Vader, and Vader dwelling on his past - as well as an old fic I wrote more than ten years ago as a young teen. 
> 
> I always had an affinity for Sad!Vader, and the angst of it. I hope he isn’t too OOC in this portrayal, it’s just a peak inside his messed up head as he’s attempting to grapple with the acceptance that if he claims Luke as his son; he must also accept that he is and always was Anakin.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! It’s one of my favourite SW pieces I’ve ever written, truthfully.


End file.
